"The accident was really a false alarm. There's nothing to worry about. Your father is in perfect shape, but I'm afraid we can't release you yet because..."

"But you said earlier that the food poisoning was over and done with, and that I was back to normal," Vlasta interrupted. "If that's so there's no need for me to stay. I feel fine, really fine."

"Acute food poisoning and its aftereffects are not as simple as you think, Miss Novak. I repeat that the food poisoning is over and done with and you are back to normal, but I must add that in cases such as yours the patient must be kept under observation to detect whether there is any possibility of recurrence."

"All right then, doctor, you know best," Vlasta agreed. "When will it be possible for my father to come and see me?"

"I think you'd better discuss this with the gentleman who arranges this sort of thing—I'm only concerned with medical matters. He'll see you presently."

"Thank you, doctor."

The Medical Officer left to rejoin the Chief Organizing Officer. "She's all yours now. There's no longer any danger of shock and you can put her through the mill now, if need be."

As the Chief Organizing Officer entered, Vlasta looked up. She thought him quite good looking, though she disliked his thin lips and the close-set eyes which had a suggestion of cruelty. He noted that she was now looking very much prettier than before, when she had been under the influence of the gas.

"I am pleased to see you looking so well, Miss Novak," he said, and forced a smile.

"I feel fine," she replied, "and I think the doctor is being over-careful in keeping me here."

He ignored the remark. "I understand you're anxious to see your father," he said, sitting down on the chair beside the bed.

"I am, and I'm sure he's terribly worried about me, too."

"Well, all you need do is to write a note to him and I will arrange for him to be brought here immediately."

"I would rather phone him."

"That's not convenient," he said, dismissing her request. "You'll have to write a note."

"Can I have pen and paper?"

"Certainly." He gave the necessary orders to a messenger outside and the pen and paper was quickly brought to her.

"A short note should do," he suggested. "And you can tell your father that he can bring along his apparatus, if he wishes."

"How do you know about that?" Vlasta exclaimed, suddenly alarmed.

"My dear Miss Novak, you talked almost non-stop about your father's apparatus and your assisting him while you were unconscious," he lied. "So you see, I am only trying to be helpful—both to your father and you—by giving you the opportunity to utilize your stay here to continue working on 'Project I.P.' With a project as important as that, there is no time to lose, for the sake of the world and humanity. It's a wonderful idea."

For some inexplicable reason Vlasta began to feel uneasy. She asked: "Which hospital am I in, actually?"

"This is not a hospital," he told her. "You're in the Medical Room of an organization."

"I want to leave at once!" she demanded, as she suddenly sensed danger.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," he said suavely.

"Are you saying I am your prisoner?"

"Let's say, a guest—as long as you don't behave foolishly."

There was now an expression in his eyes she didn't like, yet she was not afraid, and was determined to withstand any pressure on her.

"I'd advise you to write the note, Miss Novak," he pressed. "It would make matters very much easier all round."

"I am not going to write anything. I am not going to help you get my father here!" She was adamant, despite his threatening tone.

"You have five minutes to change your mind. If you..."

"I am not going to change my mind in five minutes or five thousand hours," Vlasta interrupted.

He stabbed a button on the wall beside her and seconds later two guards and some THRUSH officers filed into the room. Vlasta was securely strapped to the bed and electronic equipment was attached to her limbs.

The brainwashing and conditioning of her mind lasted a considerable time. When it was done, she wrote the note to her father.

His daughter's disappearance had brought Professor Novak to the verge of a nervous breakdown. He had visibly aged, and felt physically ill. He couldn't sleep, didn't touch food or drink—only chain-smoked. He was almost continuously in touch with State Security Headquarters, but the people there could only repeatedly tell him that the nationwide search for his daughter had not been slackened for an instant. As the hours dragged on without the slightest clue being found, he lived in fear that he would never see Vlasta again.

The stillness of his villa was suddenly disturbed by the sound of the doorbell, but he was not interested in learning who his visitor was, being in no mood for seeing anyone. All he wanted was news that his daughter had been found alive, and that, he knew, could only come by telephone from State Security Headquarters.

The caller continued to ring the doorbell.

Grudgingly the scientist pulled himself from his arm chair in the living room and walked heavily to the entrance door. When he opened it, a stranger, a well-dressed man of about forty, raised his bat and said:

"Professor Novak?"

"Yes."

"May I come in, please?"

"What is it about?"

"It's a private matter which I can't very well convey on the doorstep," the stranger said. "I won't keep you long, Professor."

"Step inside then."

As soon as the door was shut, the stranger removed Vlasta's note from the breast pocket of his coat and said: "Your daughter asked me to deliver this to you."

"My daughter?" the Professor answered in a trembling voice. "Is she all right?"

"Yes. Why don't you read her letter?"

The Professor tore open the envelope, read the note, re-read it, and each time stumbled over the sentence, "I'm longing to see you, papa—and the apparatus—I think I have found the solution."

"How can I be certain this is my daughter's handwriting?" he said after a long pause.

"You surely know your daughter's handwriting," the stranger returned.

"I do; but it is also known that good forgeries can be made."

"I can assure you, sir, that it is your daughter's handwriting," the other assured him. "You'll see for yourself that she's written the letter to you when you meet her."

"Why didn't she phone me?"

"Because there's no telephone yet installed where she is. You know how difficult it is to get a phone these days—the majority of applicants wait years…"

"Where is she?"

"With friends. I have a car here to take you to her."

"Very well then," the Professor agreed, and took coat and hat from the clothes rack in the entrance hail. "I'm ready. Let's go."

"The apparatus, sir," the stranger reminded him. "You've forgotten it."

"How stupid of me to forget!" the scientist retorted. "If you care to come along with me, we'll fetch it from my laboratory."

When they reached the heavy steel door to the laboratory, Professor Novak placed himself close to it in order to prevent the stranger observing the combination of the lock. His hands were trembling and it took longer than usual to open the door. As they stepped into the laboratory, he wiped thick beads of sweat from his forehead and said in a weak voice: